eventually you will come to understand
by Canadino
Summary: that love heals all, and love is all there is. Yamato/Kouya


**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

[=]

The best thing about being able to feel is the feeling of _healing_. Before, Yamato would only look listlessly over her blood and stare at the gash as if her eyes could make her skin close and stop the flow of red. Now she understands the rush, the need to quickly disinfect and clean and bandage – not only because now it _hurt_, but because if left untreated, it could hurt even more.

When she comes home one day with her knees bloodied, Kouya freaks out. Yamato gets barely two steps into the apartment they share when Kouya rushes up to her and falls to her knees – though not in the way Yamato would have liked. "What happened?" Kouya demands, running her fingers down the damaged skin. It gives Yamato a strange pins-and-needles feeling.

"I only tripped at that rocky part near the school," Yamato shrugs. She wants to throw her books on the floor and cuddle with Kouya on the couch until dinner, but _feeling_ makes Kouya more conscious. Yamato has to sit down and allow her fighter (though – not really, not anymore) to dote upon her raw skin.

"I'm fine," Yamato insists exasperatingly. Her knees don't even sting anymore.

"You might die if they get infected," Kouya says seriously, as if the chances of Yamato getting her legs amputated from the slight scuffling of her knees are high. She dabs on rubbing alcohol with the utmost care.

(Once before she knew the pain threshold, Kouya pressed hard onto a wound and Yamato cried out – it was a memory that haunted them both. Kouya, because she had never heard Yamato sound like that; Yamato, because she had never seen Kouya look so scared. Both have vowed never to let the incident repeat itself.)

Kouya does not skimp with her bandages so Yamato's knees come out looking as if she's sustained a grave battle wound. "It only needed a band-aid," Yamato says, admiring Kouya's handiwork. She looks at her dark-haired girl and blinks. "Kiss it better, Kouya."

Kouya blushes as she winds up the bandages again. "That's silly," she protests. She tries her best not to look at Yamato and her pleading eyes and her sandy blonde hair she's run her fingers through so many times. But she's never really been able to resist Yamato – then and now; and fighters bowed naturally to their sacrifices. So she kneels down again (and averts her eyes as not to have a peek under Yamato's skirt) and brings her lips to each knee, pressing them gently against the starchy white.

"Better?" she asks.

"Better," Yamato whispers, and leans down to kiss Kouya, tasting cloth and rubbing alcohol.

[=]

Kouya does not wear her ears anymore, probably because after they've run from Seven Moons and turned their backs on their old lives, she doesn't really give a damn about anything (but Yamato) anymore. It gives Yamato a refreshing view – instead of those pesky ears they got rid of years ago, she looks upon an expanse of lovely dark hair as Kouya changes the bandages (but really, her knees look fine, they're only scabby now).

"Your hair's really grown out," Yamato notices, picking at some of Kouya's dark locks. "It used to be shorter."

"Nagisa liked it short," Kouya says curtly, carefully wrapping bandages over Yamato's wounds. "I never really cared for it."

Kouya's always been pretty, but Yamato thinks she looks really cute in longer hair. She's a waitress to get some money to live on, and sometimes Yamato worries about Kouya when she watches men hit on her. Kouya is a secretary for this nice woman, and Kouya is really professional and she probably would object to it, but you could never know.

"Nagisa always liked you better," Yamato sniffs. "I didn't like that."

"Neither did I," Kouya admits. She straightens up, and in a show of rare affection, wraps her arms around Yamato's neck. "It bothered you, so it bothered me."

[=]

The thing that bothers Yamato more than she'd like to admit is that – the Zero mark on Kouya's breast hasn't faded. It means Kouya still can't tell the difference between pain and pleasure. It ties her back to their past, one which has erased itself from Yamato's skin. It reminds her that they're still different. Yamato reaches down to scratch at her knees; they've started to itch.

"Don't scratch," Kouya scolds softly, grabbing Yamato's wrist and guiding her hand back up to her breasts. Her glasses are sitting neatly on the bedside. Yamato smiles wanly.

"Where should I touch when I want to scratch my knees, then?" she asks. It's beautiful now; clothes on the ground, brasseries somewhere in the room. She was always fond of lace panties. Kouya sports a very nice pair of black ones; the thought occurs to Yamato that she'd like to take them off with her teeth.

"Anywhere on me," Kouya allows, and Yamato wants to grimace, because she knows Kouya won't feel how she feels. They touch and Yamato feels guilty of being the only one to enjoy it. If time could take away her Zero, surely if they wait some more, Kouya's will also disappear. Until then, Yamato satisfies herself with the idea that maybe if she tries hard enough, she can enable the nerves again and with a medical miracle, Kouya can gasp and mean it.

[=]

"They're all better."

Kouya takes off the bandages one day and Yamato's knees are fresh and clean like babies. They both stare at the sight.

"I'll miss them," Yamato confesses, as Kouya puts away the first aid kit. "They let me monopolize a bit of your time every day."

"Don't go breaking something just for that," Kouya warns.

"I can't promise that," Yamato laughs. She hates pain. After a good part of her lifetime unable to feel such a thing, the change has made her terribly adverse to it. "But if you can promise to spend time with me anyway…"

"Of course." This is the best part of healing.


End file.
